a tropic bird in the bramble roses
by v a p e w a v e N I C O
Summary: Judy is strangely fascinated with Camilla Macaulay, even if she did throw her beer on Camilla that one time. What she didn't expect was for Camilla to look back, one day.


Chapter 1

Judy Poovey felt a little bad for Camilla once; before the party where beer was thrown and Camilla's clique of pallid little scholars had turned into rabid, snapping beasts.

At a distance, Camilla was an admirable girl among the nerds. Deceptively fragile-looking. A dove, a doe, a goddess, a woman she longed to shove onto the stage. Dress her up in clinging, draping dresses. Recite something profound and Greek or whatever. Take her away from the libraries and boys and get her to go wild, like a proper college student should. They were all repressed. Their poise unnerved her. Like statues moving, she'd told Richard once, before he became an unfinished marble himself.

It just seemed sad, she supposed, to live your life like that.

But then Camilla called her the worst thing she'd ever been called, (and boy had she been called a lot of horrible things) and her sympathies for the hot-house flower had waned considerably.

Beauty and terror. Perhaps Richard was on to something, with his tweaked-out monologues on Beauty and Character and Meaning. (Or perhaps Richard had a crush, and intellectualizing it was the only way he could justify having such _pedestrian_ emotions.) The girl was hot, Judy knew. But god, would she not want to be alone in a room with her. There was some predatory, vicious in the blonde girl and her all-white get up. The way her chin jutted out in disdain as she walked through the masses of drugged out students, shoulders back, looking for Richard as he pressed into an adoring freshman. Taking him wherever. All with a cool expression, only raising an eyebrow or giving a little smile that showed nothing, absolutely nothing of her inside.

She was being ridiculous, of course. Who cared about a girl surrounded by nerds and one wanna-be nerd, who cared what her eyebrows did or how her lips curved? Beauty was beauty, but an asshole was an asshole.

It was in the library, that Judy met Camilla again.

She'd been going over costumes for _The Trojan Women._ Taking photocopies out of the big references books of ancient clothing. Sneezing in the ill-swept corner of the library. Dark and deserted and depressing. That's what she got for devotion to the craft: a very boring Sunday afternoon. Somewhere someone was doing acid and riding around town, and Judy was _here._ No one else in the costume department took this seriously; they'd use bedsheets for togas if she'd let them. It was a mandatory sacrifice.

A blonde was moving in the stacks, sunlight streaking behind her. Off-white sweater, bruised neck. Trembling hands grasped a book; something thick and neglected on the 3rd floor. Judy had only noticed the way a person watches the crowds push around her on a late Saturday night, acknowledging that things were moving but not that other humans with other agendas were doing their things. She took in cut fingers and chipped nails, light footsteps. The had an anonymous quality. A word, whispered in the twilight dim of the late autumn afternoon.

Greek, Judy realized, recognizing the feel of Richard's occasional phrase. And thus, _Camilla._

They hadn't interacted. Since that party. Last term.

She hadn't meant to throw a beer in her face, really, or rather, she would have thrown a beer in anyone's face who would say such a thing. It wasn't personal, she thought, it was a reaction any self-respecting person with a few brewskis in them would have had.

Camilla was staring at her, eyes almost luminous in the dark. Judy blinked back. As if the bust of a statue had come to life, staring-

"If you want reimbursement for the dry cleaning, I'm afraid I can't help you."

Her voice was quiet gravel. "Excuse me?" Surprised, almost, that Judy had been capable of speech.

"Beer. Throwing. Party. Ring a bell?"

"Oh." So remote. So distant. "Oh yes, I remember now." Her expression did not change, still blank and pleasant and haughty. The fuck did she want? Camilla was still watching her. Like she was an exhibition on display.

"The fuck do you want?"

Camilla came closer, heavy book in hand like a sword to wield. Too close. Her little sandals were on top of Judy's sneakers almost, toes painted a dim metallic pink, skirt swishing in the poorly-heated air. "Girl, girl, step back." Judy shoved her a little, giving herself a foot of space. (What pointed bony shoulders Camilla had.) "Holy shit. Personal space."

Seemingly not hearing a word Judy spoke, Camilla pointed at the print-outs. Wide-eyed, deliberate. Did Judy detect... excitement? "That paper right there. Those dresses. What are they for?"

Too surprised to spit something nasty at her, Judy told her the truth. "I'm making costumes for The Trojan Women. It's reference."

She smelled like the earth, Judy thought. Like rain and fresh ferns rising through the underbrush. "I see. I read that once. In Greek, a few summers ago."

"Uh." Why were they having this conversation, exactly? "Cool. Yeah, we're, uh, putting on a performance this winter."

Almost... reluctantly, Camilla looked interested. Like she'd discovered an animal that could talk and had read a favorite book of hers. "Do you act?"

"Not much, just make the costumes and help with the sets. Done bit parts. You know." Was this a normal, average conversation with Camilla Macaulay? She half expected Henry Winters to come out of the Persian Literature section and punch her for daring to speak of banalities before the gods.

"We read the plays in class, sometimes. Julian always has me read the women's parts. Says the others don't have the necessary charm to speak such roles. I disagree, of course. The ancient Grecian men would play women in plays, as women were not allowed to act. Historically, he is inaccurate. Men have always been capable of playing those parts."

Uhhhhhhh. Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

How the hell was she supposed to respond to _that ?_

"Gender roles are pretty dumb, right? Like, it's the 90's already. Julian sounds lame as hell."

It was sudden, the change in Camilla's expression. Stormy eyes rose in anger like a rain cloud ready to burst, meeting hers fully, awkwardly. She opened her mouth, ready to say something devastating and angry and cruel- and then closed it, as if it would not be worth it.

"I should go."

Fuck. Fucking. What the fuck ever. "Later."

Camilla glided off into the foreboding stacks, quiet as she came, her white skirts swelling in the dust behind her.

A shiver went through Judy, feeling as though she'd failed some test. What on earth had that been about?

The incident left Judy's mind easily enough with a few kamikazes and some bitching to her friends, and as the school year started in earnest she had mostly forgotten about it. There was always other people to talk to, other people who were actually friendly and easy to talk to, even Richard with his shabby wanna-be professor look and not so wanna-be professor coke habit. They had fun; tearing off to Burger King and strip malls buzzed as hell and ready to fuck something up (or just fuck.) He was a weird kid, but she was fond of him in a west coast kind of way. Homey, somehow.

It wasn't until she caught Camilla watching her sew in the studio that Judy recalled the awkward encounter, Camilla's violently pale face up close and personal with hers, smelling vaguely of a forest and telling her stories about her weirdo professor. Her gray eyes were transfixed, not on her, Judy realized with an odd tinge of disappointment, but on the outfit she'd been stitching.

She decided not to look up from her work. Not that she thought Camilla would care, but for her own self esteem. "You really like this Greek stuff, to bother condescending with us commoners."

"It is what I have chosen to devote my years at Hampden to." Stiff as the sculpture guys during critique, but nowhere near as flushed.

"So what, you wanna play dress up too, or...?" She let the question dangle. Normally she would tease, mock, play with whoever she was talking to. But. Camilla Macaulay.

Fuck it. It's not like Camilla was going to stick around.

"I can let you try it on, is that what you wanted? Is that why you followed me down here?"

The girl-child got up close and personal again. She practically raced to the work desk. Her hands lay on the table; pretty tapered hands with the same flaking nail polish. If Judy didn't know better, she would think the girl was docile. Pleading. "Would you let me?"

Was... this really happening? "Are you actually for real right now?"

"Yes. Your work is immaculate."

Fuck it?

Judy thrust one of the finished Grecian dresses at her. "Well, go wild."

Camilla disappeared into a changing room, without so much as a word of thanks.

Judy wondered why she was letting this strange bitchy girl into a fabric of her sweat, blood, and tears. She didn't _like_ Camilla. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was because Camilla called her work immaculate. Or maybe, it was something close to pity, for the hot-house flower in a greenhouse of men without so much as a hanger-on girlfriend to accompany her. It was a strange feeling, to feel that way about someone. Sort of how she felt about Richard, she supposed, but Richard was more friendly and less beautiful.

When the door opened, Judy gasped out loud.

Camilla appeared like she'd stepped from one of those Grecian epics. Draping fabric clung to each contour and curve, the arms bare and faintly muscular, (perhaps lugging all those books around paid off) her breasts dainty and pointed under the thin material. She was carved, created. There was nothing organic about her. Messy golden hair was piled on her head, like shining metal under the studio lights. It was as if she'd stepped from a work of art.

(Except, Judy saw, underneath the poise and breeding and beauty, there was an excited little girl playing dress up for the first time.)

"You could be Artemis, if we gave you a bow."

Color rose on Camilla's cheeks, a pretty faint rose. "It is a lovely costume."

"Yeah, yeah, just hang it up when you're done."

Camilla studied herself in the studio's many mirrors. "How much would it be for you to make five of these?"

"Oh, maybe... wait, what?"

"Five costumes. I would send you the measurements, of course."

"You're... never kidding about these things, are you?"

Camilla gave her a smile, a real full smile. "No, I am afraid not. I am very serious about acquiring your handiwork."

Judy worked out a sum, plus additional charges for time and skill. "That sound good?"

"Oh, we can pay you more than that."

She wasn't going to say no to more money. (Or, she would have said no, if she'd known the person asking better, if she hadn't gotten into a stupid fight with the person asking, if the person asking wasn't odd and temperamental...) "Uh, okay."

Camilla took her hand. "Thank you, Judy. We appreciate it."

She sounded genuinely... grateful? It was the first time Camilla had used Judy's name, and it did not escape her notice. It seemed intimate, somehow. Not quite friends, but perhaps on speaking terms. "No problem. I could use the cash."

"I'll go get changed then, I suppose." Camilla's face was close yet again, hand still on hers. "It seems like such a shame to take off such a lovely dress, though. I wish I could wear it to class or the store."

How whimsical, Judy thought. Almost child-like. "You're a modern goddess in our midst."

"Oh, no." Her voice was soft, warm against Judy's ear. Fingers pressing against hers, long and warm and gentle. "I would be a classic goddess come to this secular time."

There was this feeling, like she'd gotten when she'd done coke for the time, when she'd first gotten into a car with a guy she barely know, when she'd signed up to do the costumes for the Christmas play in high school: the feeling of getting in over her head. Of starting to drown.

"I-"

"Shhh." Camilla put a finger to her lips. "I'll go get changed now, okay? Thank you Judy, I look forward to working with you."

And like she hadn't been the biggest bitch of all bitches last April, Camilla kissed her on the cheek and let go of her hand, and disappeared into the changing room.


End file.
